


In His Shadow

by Vena



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: not that graphic but just in case, rated because a grown man beats up a kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 06:36:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4818836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vena/pseuds/Vena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was the chance he’d been waiting for his whole life! If he could defeat Big Boss- no, if he could eliminate Big Boss, it would prove that he was the superior one after all! If the clone could kill their original, then they could finally move out from their shadow and truly start living life as their own person!</p>
            </blockquote>





	In His Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends! this is my first metal gear fanfiction and the first big fight i've tried to write so i really hope that everything turned out okay! after playing mgsv i was highly disappointed by the general lack of eli and the fact that even when he did show up he hardly spoke at all so this is a slight re-imagining of mission 23 and my take on a few things that happened prior! i know the writing is sort of all over the place i wrote things out of order and tried to piece it together but i hope it's not too hard to follow and i hope you enjoy! ;u;

Eli was the loser.

He’d been one since the day he was born. Since the day he’d been created. It was a fact that had been clear to him as long as he could remember. Unlike his brother, whose genes were the perfect combination of their father’s dominant traits, he’d been sent away by Cipher no doubt for his own inferior traits. He was the refuse; he was the garbage can into which they’d poured all of the old man’s flawed and recessive genes. The only reason he had been born at all was to make sure that his twin brother received everything while he ended up with nothing. He’d never even met his twin, but he hated him. Did his double enjoy the superior life he was sure to be leading in the United States with Cipher? Being treated like a king, while he was tossed aside like yesterday’s leftovers? He was young, but he understood what it meant to be unwanted.

 When he looked in the mirror, it made him sick to his stomach. That face didn’t belong to only him. No, he was sure it was the face his brother shared as well. A hand reached out to trace the lines of his nose, chin, and eyes. He smiled, he frowned, he stretched out his cheeks, stuck out his tongue. He gripped the corners of this sink, feeling himself overcome with disgust and anger. This wasn’t his face at all. Even before he and his twin had been created, this had been the face of the man they were cloned from. The face of Big Boss. If there was one person in the world that he hated more than his brother, it was his _father._ He was certain that the man was the one who’d made the decisions about his clones. He hadn’t been satisfied with two similar copies of himself; no, that just wasn’t enough. Of course, one of them had to be dominant; superior. He only needed one son. The other wasn’t needed. The other was inferior, nothing more than a piece of garbage that needed to be tossed away.

“Why did you do this to me!?” he shouted, as if his reflection could give him the answers he desired, “Why even create me at all if I’m not needed…?”

“Why did you give him _everything_?” he yelled again, locking eyes with himself in the mirror, “I could have been useful, too, if you’d given me the chance!”

“I never asked to be made this way!” he was glaring now, his fists clenched at his sides, “I never asked to be garbage!”

He couldn’t stand to look at himself anymore. Not knowing that he shared the exact same face as _them_. With a growl and a cry of frustration, he reared back and punched the mirror as hard as he could. Though he was small, his fist had hit it with enough force to crack it and he backed up and howled in pain as the shards sliced his knuckles. He turned on the faucet and ran his hand under the cool water, hissing as it washed though the cuts and carried trickles of blood to the drain. He didn’t dare look up at what remained of the mirror. Once his hand had gotten patched up by one annoyed and only mildly concerned caretaker, Eli decided from then on he would start wearing gloves.

\- - - - - -

Though he’d hated Africa when they first arrived, it had provided him with many new opportunities the life he’d had in England couldn’t offer. Here, he learned how to use a gun, how to fight. The grip in his hands as he fired at the targets his handlers had set up felt right. Natural. When he changed the clip the motions felt familiar, as if ingrained in his fingers. As good as it felt to hold a gun, it was when he was allowed to spar that he felt truly alive; he could even take down a fully grown man if he tried hard enough! Though he was never allowed to finish (he usually took the duels too far, and his handlers didn’t want him to injure the whole staff), any day that allowed him to use his fists was another day of life. Once they started sending him on missions, he would truly be allowed to live.

Did he really even want that? Even if they did ship him off to the field, he would still be following their orders. He would still be living his life, no matter how insignificant and false it was, under the plans laid out for him by Cipher. The thought of doing the bidding of the organization who left him empty only filled him with rage. No, if he ever truly wanted to be happy, truly wanted to be _free_ , he would need to get away from them as soon as possible. He had to plan his escape.

\- - - - -

Once he felt he had learned everything his handlers could teach him, Eli was ready to make his departure. For the last few months, he’d been hiding tools away that he could use for his escape in a small nook hidden by a loose floorboard under his bed. Though there was usually a guard that patrolled the hallway outside his small room, they rarely checked in on him unless he was making a racket. As it was, the boy crawled out of bed as quietly as he could and ducked underneath it. He wrenched the floorboard loose very carefully, setting it to the side as he took out what he’d hidden. Three knives he’d managed to sneak out of the kitchen and sharpen on his own and a combat knife he’d stolen from the utility tent a few weeks ago. Two small packages of crackers and a canteen came next, followed by a lighter and the one treasure he had: a conch shell. It was pretty and looking at it almost gave him a sort of nostalgic feel. It reminded him of a book he liked to read back when he had lived in England. He smiled at it fondly before remembering what it was he was doing, crawling back out from underneath the bed.

He tiptoed to the closet on the far side of the room, pulling out the rest of his supplies. He got dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, slipping on a jacket over top. He’d ripped the sleeves off, not expecting to need them in the African heat. He quietly looped a belt on, fastening a pouch big enough to tuck his meager supplies in for convenience. Once he slipped on his favorite pair of gloves he crept back to the bed, crouching down again to pick up his supplies and get them in the pouch. He tucked everything inside except one of the kitchen knives and the conch shell, tying the conch to the other side of his belt instead as it was too big to fit properly. He clenched the knife in his teeth as he slipped his boots on, tying the knots as tight as he could. Nervousness and adrenaline were beginning to pump through his body now as he stood back up. This was his one chance. If he blew it, he’d never be able to escape from here. He shuddered at the thought.

He made his way over to the door, positioning himself by the wall where the door would open to. His heart beat faster as he picked up the rock there that was usually used to prop it open, and he hurled it into the window across from his position. The glass shattered, and he heard a set of footsteps running down the hall. He held the knife tightly in his hand as he braced himself. The door swung open and he caught the handle before it could slam into his chest, the guard rushing into the room.

“Where the hell is that brat!?” he muttered, shining a flashlight at the broken window, “If that little shit gets out of here on my watch, there’s gonna be hell to pay…!” Eli recognized the man’s voice. They had sparred together only a few days ago; Eli’d been pulled off him after he’d twisted the man’s ankle. That light limp he’d had was still there, and that was definitely in his advantage. He pushed the door open slowly, tiptoeing up behind the man who was scanning the area outside his window. He crouched down and just as the man started turning his head back Eli launched himself onto his back, legs and arm wrapped around his chest while the other held the knife to his throat. He made a choking noise and dropped his pistol to the floor.

“This little shit is going to be getting out of here whether you like it or not,” he hissed. The man made another noise as he started raising his hands. “Drop them!” he pressed the flat of the blade against his neck and the man swallowed hard as he dropped his arms back to his sides.

“Listen, Eli, let’s talk about this,” he reasoned, turning slightly to flash the boy a smile.

“Let’s not,” he chuckled, bringing his other arm up to wrap around the man’s throat. He struggled for a bit, but after a few moments he passed straight out and sent the both of them crumpling to the floor. Eli holstered his knife on his belt and dug through the things the soldier had on him; he took the pistol he’d dropped, as well as the four clips of ammunition he’d had stashed away. As an afterthought, he untied the man’s red bandanna and tied it to his jacket instead. A small trophy of his first takedown, he reasoned as he stood back up. He grabbed a pillow off his bed and approached the door again, peeking around the corners. No one in sight, he crept his way down the hall towards the back entrance. He knew there was a guard stationed just outside, gun rattling in his shaking hand. He took a deep breath to try and calm himself, lifting the pistol as he kicked the door open.

“Don’t move,” he whispered as he dug the pistol into the soldier’s back. He nodded emphatically, setting his own gun on the ground at Eli’s command. His heart beat faster as the man got down on the ground like he was told; he didn’t have much time. His guard could wake up at any moment and when that happened, it would all be over. His fingers ached with how tightly they held the gun, still pointed at the back of the soldier’s head. Hesitation meant capture. His finger trembled as he turned the safety off, but at the last minute decided to knock the soldier by slamming the butt of the gun to his head. _Chicken,_ he thought to himself as he struggled to drag the limp man into the building. He ignored how his gut wrenched seeing the wound it left on him. He knew he wouldn’t have time to do this again if he ran across anyone else. He attempted to steel himself as he scanned the camp, sentries posted at every tent and every building.

The building his room was in was stationed near the back of the camp; he could just turn circle around it and sneak into the night without too much trouble. He knew there was a nightly patrol that rounded the whole camp, but if luck remained with him he might be able to make it out before they even got there. He kept his back to the building as he circled around it, pillow in one hand and pistol in the other. Once he’d made his way to the other side, he broke out into a run. He regretted not filching a flashlight off of one of the guards, unable to see very well in the darkness. He heard a voice to his right, and felt something hit his leg as he tripped to the ground. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, and when he rolled over he found himself face to face with the barrel of a rifle.

“Well well well, what do we have here..?” the soldier said in a mocking voice, pushing the tip of the gun against Eli’s cheek, “an escapee? You know you’re not allowed out of your room after curfew, Eli.” Eli didn’t respond, mouth a tightly pressed line. “It’s a good thing I caught you! Cipher would hate to lose a specimen like you, after all.” Eli bit down on the pillow to muffle his cry of pain as the soldier brought his boot down on his gut. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t rough you up a bit first, brat. Remember when you bit me a month ago? I haven’t forgotten.” He dug his heel down deep and Eli bit harder into the pillow. He remembered. The man’s wound had gotten infected, and he could see the bandages on his wrist under his jacket.

His other hand still held the pistol, and it was concealed behind the pillow against his chest. He still said nothing. The man slowly lifted his foot and just as Eli sucked in a deep breath a sharp kick hit him in the ribs. His pain was muffled again as the man laughed. “Well, I shouldn’t rough you up _too_ much, huh? You’re valuable property, after all.” Thinking the kick had stunned him, he turned around and pulled a radio from his pocket. Eli’s heart stopped dead in his chest. No! If he used it, he would never get out of here! His hands shaking again, he lifted the pillow and aimed the pistol at the back of the man’s head. Unaware as he dialed the right frequency, Eli lifted the pillow to the barrel of the gun and fired. The shot was silenced, somewhat, but behind him he could hear stirring in the camp. The man slumped to the ground, radio crackling with concerned voices in the dirt. Eli couldn’t hear them. His head was buzzing and he felt sick as blood began to seep from the man’s wounds. Time seemed to stop.

He’d killed a man with his own hands.

Clicking the safety on again as he struggled to his feet, he stumbled forward and ripped a flashlight off of the man’s belt. Sirens began to blare and search lights flashed to life behind him and he took off again, running as fast as his legs could carry him. Killing was what he’d been created for, wasn’t it? Soldiers on the battlefield never hesitated when taking a life. But if that was the case, why did his stomach disagree?

\- - - - -

Five years.

Eli had been living on the run for five whole years now; not knowing if each day was going to be his last. Though most kids might not have survived as he had managed to, Eli had no complaints about his new life. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. He didn’t have to live for anybody else, he didn’t have to follow any rules but his own. Perhaps the best part of all, though, he was finally free. Free from Cipher’s control, free from the curse written into his very genes. He was still a clone, still an inferior product, but if he managed to survive this long on his own maybe he was better than he’d thought?

For years, he did what he had to in order to survive; he picked up on local language, he hunted small game, he stole from nearby villages, had a drink whenever he could, bathed when he could be bothered to. His body was becoming a finely tuned instrument: though he was lean and slightly undernourished, he was pleased with how his muscles had been developing.

Though it once made him sick, killing hardly phased him anymore. Every once in awhile, a patrol probably headed by Cipher still came to look for him. And every time, not a single soldier remained alive. What once made him vomit now made him proud; he was fulfilling his destiny. He was a true soldier now, better than any that were sent after him. In his travels, he’d met other child soldiers as well. Though they were nowhere near as strong as he was, it was still nice to have a little company every once in a while. They never stuck around long, though, because the adults in charge had them constantly training, constantly moving. Maybe with a bit of planning, he could do something to rectify this situation; soldiers were generally part of an army, and he was sorely lacking in that department. He knew most of the routes the PFs liked to use, and where they usually trained the newest children to be used in their wars. Yes, he would have his own army soon.

\- - - - -

Nyoka ya Mpembe was strong.

He was charismatic, a real leader. He’d taken out the PF troopers that had been stationed in Bwala ya Masa while they’d had their heads turned, and had come to lead the child soldiers there in their place. The other kids loved and adored him; treated him like a savior, a ruler. In return, he kept them alive and as comfortable as he could in their new stronghold. For the first time, Eli didn’t feel lonely. He didn’t feel inferior. The other boys praised him and together they couldn’t be beaten by anyone. The village was a true paradise; free from adults, and free from his fate.

They had taken out other adults in the area, and each victory was putting the PFs on higher alert. Not that that would ever be a worry for the White Mamba. They all feared him, as they rightly should. He’d chosen the name himself once he’d recruited the kids, and banned anyone else from calling him his other name. He hated that name. All it did was remind him of how empty his life had been and how he used to be trash. That was behind him now; he’d carved out a new life for himself here, and he tried his hardest to forget the past.

This particular evening found Eli feeling a bit wary. It had been some time since someone had tried to get into the village, and things seemed too quiet for his taste. If things kept on like this, he and his boys would have to go and stir up some excitement of their own. With a smirk he relaxed in his ‘throne’, a white lawn chair he’d been lucky enough to find a couple of weeks ago when they’d raided a nearby village for food. With thoughts of the feast they’d shared and the fun they’d had, the sound of gunfire broke him from his daydreams. Was somebody assaulting them? As if on cue, one of the boys on guard at the front of his ship came in in a panic.

“Nyoka ya Mpembe! There’s trouble! Ralph says that somebody’s trying to get into the village,” he cried, Eli setting a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

“Relax,” he said, tugging him close and rubbing the top of his head, “those guys can handle it. They’re tough!” the gunfire died down, and he gave a firm nod. “See? They’ve probably taken care of it already. Go on and check with him if it makes you feel better.” the boy nodded a few times before heading out the way he came. He’d mostly said that to calm the kid down, but he really wasn’t too worried. He settled back into his chair again, fiddling with his conch shell. A few more minutes of silence and Eli had a strange sense that whatever was happening wasn’t over yet. No one had come back to let him know if the problem had been taken care of, and the quiet now was unnerving. Had somebody knocked them all out? Or worse…? He stood from his throne, moving to the deck of the wrecked ship. He scanned the village, but from what he could tell things seemed to be in order. Some of the boys were still patrolling along the farthest huts, keeping watch like they were supposed to. The boys closest to the ship, however, appeared to be asleep.

“Hey, wake up! The shift change hasn’t happened yet,” he called out, but the sleeping kids failed to stir at all. Had someone else come and put them to sleep? Perhaps there were already people out for his blood? Other members of the local PFs wanting to take him out for revenge, or to get their young soldiers back? Eli laughed to himself; those bastards didn’t know who they were up against. Sitting back down, he traced a gloved finger along one of the arms of the chair. “Like any of them could actually beat me,” he chuckled, shifting to make himself a bit more comfortable against the hard plastic. He spread his legs and slung his arms behind his head, making note of what weapons he had in the room. A few chunks of wood stripped from the ship, and about three glass bottles. He had a couple of small bombs he’d made himself tucked in a hiding place on top of the ship, but he doubted he’d need any of those. He’d been created from the perfect soldier, after all. How could an ordinary one hope to defeat him?

Even if his genes weren’t the dominant ones, they still had to count for _something_ , right? He hadn’t lost a single battle, and he had great confidence in his skills. Five whole years, and he’d won every fight he’d ever been in. Could his brother, or even his _father_ say the same? Had his father been nearly as strong as he was now when he was a child? In just a few years, maybe he could even surpass him somehow. He had to. Nyoka ya Mpembe was more than a match for Big Boss; Eli was weak, Eli was inferior, Eli was trash. But he’d discarded the name years ago, and his new identity along with his nom de guerre were strong and unbeatable. He was finally free from the destiny that had been chosen for him since before he was born; he wouldn’t be shackled to his inferior genes any more.

The sound of creaking wood and footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Was that one of the kids, come to tell him of the intruder’s fate? No…they were moving too slowly and too carefully for that. His eyes trained on the opening in the ship, squinting in the semi-darkness outside. The footsteps stopped a moment, as if hesitating, when he noticed a tall frame stand up from a crouch and make its way into the ship. As the figure was illuminated, the blonde’s eyes widened a fraction of a moment in shock. Out of anyone who could come waltzing into his ship, this man was the absolute _last_ he would have ever considered. Though they’d never met before this moment, Eli knew without a doubt who this man was. He’d seen his picture enough times when he was younger and his anger and resentment would _never_ let him forget his face. Standing up to him now was none other than his father, Big Boss. The look the older man was giving him was unreadable; did he know who he was?

“So you’re the so-called White Mamba,” he said, and Eli only blinked. No, of course not. Why would the man recognize the child that had been thrown away? His old rage bubbling beneath the surface, he tried to keep a calm demeanor as he shifted in his chair. He brought his arms down from behind his head and gripped the arms of the chair tightly, shifting forward a bit as he crossed a leg over the other.

“And if I am?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. Had the man been dispatched by Cipher to reclaim him? Or had one of the local PF groups hired him to put a stop to his activities?

“Something tells me that’s not the name your parents gave you,” he replied accusingly, and that really set Eli off.

“Like you would even care what it was,” he hissed under his breath. It didn’t matter, anyway. Eli was a name that was no longer his. No, this man had absolutely no idea who he was. No idea of how much he had caused him to suffer. Had the man even given him his old name? He grit his teeth and lowered his head, his gloves straining as he gripped the chair harder.

 Through the haze of anger that now enveloped him, a new thought emerged that almost made him giddy. This was the chance he’d been waiting for his whole life! If he could defeat Big Boss- no, if he could _eliminate_ Big Boss, it would prove that he was the superior one after all! If the clone could kill their original, then they could finally move out from their shadow and truly start living life as their own person!

He looked back up at the man, relaxing his hands as he stood from his seat. He hopped down from the platform it sat on, clicking his tongue with annoyance when he spotted Big Boss holstering his weapon. Didn’t think he’d need it to fight a kid, huh? He’d teach him a lesson. Before the other even had time to move, Eli jumped to the side and grabbed a piece of splintered wood from its resting place on the floor near the pig’s head.

“Come get it!” he taunted, waving the stick in his father’s direction. The man’s expression didn’t change (though Eli could swear he saw the twitching of an eyebrow), but he did begin a slow and careful approach. Eli was hunched in a similar fighting stance, gripping the piece of wood tight as he kept himself up on his toes. He watched carefully and waited for the perfect moment; right when Big Boss entered his range, he quickly lept forward and swung out with his weapon with a loud cry. The blow connected with his jaw, and the older man hit the deck with the force of the attack. The boy inwardly grinned at how good the contact had felt; he’d waited his whole life to do that! As Big Boss started to get up again, Eli took a few quick steps to the side and one back. Big Boss didn’t seem too phased by the whole ordeal, and that just served to make him more agitated. He continued circling the man carefully as he reassumed his fighting stance, jumping again once he’d circled to the right.

This time, however, his father had been ready for him. In one swift motion, he stepped to the side and pulled the stick from his hands before carefully thrusting his palm forward to connect a hit with his gut. The wind was knocked out of him as he was sent sailing backwards, and he choked as he hit the ground hard.

“Weapons aren’t going to help you in this fight,” the older man chided, and Eli’s hands balled into fists as he quickly pushed himself up off the floor. He was acting pretty high and mighty for somebody who’d been knocked down by a kid just a few moments ago.

“Tch, bastard,” he spat, taking a step back to grab a bottle from the floor. He threw it and it shattered against his father’s guard, and he took the opportunity to slide through the window and climb up to the very top of the ship. It was dark now, but he knew this vessel inside and out; he had the clear advantage as long as the fight stayed here. He heard footsteps on the deck below, and he fished around until he found what he was looking for: one of his homemade petrol bombs.

“Come on out here, kid,” he could hear the man call. Eli quietly crawled along the top deck, peering over the edge until he spotted his target looking through the windows beneath him. He bit back a low laugh as he raised himself to his knees, chucking the weapon down at Big Boss. He must have had better hearing than Eli thought, because once the bomb left his hands he found the soldier’s eye locked with his. Before it even had time to explode he rolled out of the way and climbed back inside the ship.

“You’ll never beat me with cheap tricks like that!” his voice called out, and Eli punched the roof in frustration. He lept down and circled around, entering through one of the windows behind where the old man was situated. He grabbed a metal pipe that was resting against the wall there, fingers tightening around it as the other turned to face him.

“Shut up!!” Eli shouted, hoisting the pipe as he charged forward. He fell for Big Boss’s provocation, and as he sidestepped he grabbed the blonde’s wrist and hoisted him into the air. He knocked the pipe from his hands and kneed him hard in the gut, rolling him to the floor afterwards. The boy heaved against the ground, and he had to swallow down a small wave of sickness as he pushed himself up again.

“You should just give it up, Mamba,” the older man said, “a good commander knows when to fight and when to surrender.” What the hell did _he_ know about being a good commander!? Eli was too blinded by his hatred to see that he was just egging him on again, and he walked right into his trap.

“A good commander never gives up!” he shouted, skirting around Big Boss to grab the pipe again. He relished in the look of surprise he saw on the old man’s face at his swift motions. It would take a lot more than being thrown around a little to keep him down! The blonde reeled back and whipped the pipe at Big Boss as hard as he could, only to have it easily deflected with his bionic hand. Before Eli had time to react, the older man was already in front of him again and planting a neat punch to his chest. It sent him skittering back but he managed to keep his footing this time. He had to catch his breath a moment, but he took off running down the deck and quickly rounded the corner.

As he heard heavy footsteps starting to jog after him, he jumped up and climbed back to the top of the ship again. The footsteps continued around the other corner, and back down towards the tail end of the ship. Eli grabbed an empty bottle and jumped down behind the man, throwing it against his back before he dashed forward and grappled his knees. This seemed to take Big Boss by surprise, as the force of the tackle sent him crashing down to the deck. He made a pained grunt and Eli gave a cruel laugh, reaching up to pull hard at his opponent’s ponytail. He hissed as the new angle forced his head back, his one eye meeting Eli’s glare.

“What are you going to do now, _Snake?_ ” the boy hummed, shifting so he could push his full weight against the man’s back as he pulled harder, “I think somebody’s in dire need of a haircut! I could arrange that for you.” With his free hand, Eli opened the bag at his side and pulled out a knife. He weighed it carefully in his palm, gripping it comfortably as he leaned down further and set it against the taller man’s now-exposed neck. “Perhaps a shave, as well? Though this’ll be the closest shave you _ever_ get.” Just as he readied himself to press it down a cold, metallic hand reached back and grabbed the wrist that was tugging Big Boss’s hair.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, “ _Commander”,”_ he growled, pressure on Eli’s wrist suddenly becoming unbearable. He cried out and tried to push himself away, but Big Boss’s hand showed no signs of letting go as he began to rise from the ground. Eli began to panic, drawing his other hand back to try and chip at the bionic limb with the knife, only for the man’s other hand to reach back and knock it away. He then grabbed both of his wrists as he came to a full stand, Eli squirming and kicking against the back of his legs. With a sudden heave, the boy felt himself hoisted over the man’s head as he was slammed down against the ship. He could feel one of the floorboards beneath him crack with the impact, and his back lit up in pain. He tried to keep quiet but couldn’t stop an anguished cry as he blinked open his eyes again. His blood ran cold when he caught the dark look in his father’s eye as he peered down at him. He struggled to stand, groaning in pain as he made it back to his feet. Big Boss didn’t look amused at all.

“Stay down, kid. You can’t beat me,” he said with a low note of caution. The chill that had run through Eli’s body moments before boiled over with pain and rage instead.

“I’ll kill you!” he shouted, charging at the man again. A small blow was delivered to Eli’s chest as he was pulled forward, another hitting him in the back. He hit the ground but somersaulted up into a standing position again, turning right back around. He yelled with rage as he planted his fist in Big Boss’s gut, who grabbed it and punched his gut in return. Eli felt sick again, this time unable to stop himself as he coughed out a small amount of spit and bile to the floor. He took his other fist and attempted to land a hit on the man’s jaw, but his bionic hand reached out and caught it before he could make contact.

Instead of trying to wrestle his hands free, Eli smirked as he kneed Big Boss in the groin. The man let out a choking noise of his own and his grip loosened which gave Eli the chance to make his escape. He scraped his knife back up off the ground and dashed back into the ship, shoving it back into his opened bag to leave both hands free until he needed it again. He scanned the room for any other weapons and when his eyes came to rest upon his throne, it gave him an idea. Outside, it sounded like Big Boss had recovered as he came barreling into the room right behind him. Eli had just enough time to throw his arms up into a guard before he was punched into the chair and back down to the floor. The chair landed next to him, Eli taking a moment to get his bearings back before he started inching towards the object. Big Boss took a step forward, and Eli’s hands closed around the chair’s arm before he raised it as he stood.

He gave a battle cry as he swung it at him, watching as he dodged it by stepping back into the wall. He took the opportunity to charge forward, trapping him against the wall with the chair’s legs. This was it!

“You’re finished!” he cried, unsheathing his knife again as he drove it forward. Time seemed to slow down in the next moments; Big Boss let go of the chair with his bionic hand, bringing it up to stop the knife. He tried to tug his hand away, but the older man’s other hand came up and hit the side of his head. The light blow disoriented him long enough to have the chair thrown out from between them. As his vision began to realign he felt a soft kick to his leg that didn’t hurt but made him stagger back nonetheless, the knife now being ripped from his grip as he pulled his hand away.

He let loose another battle cry as he ran straight for Big Boss again, hands out to push him. One was caught by the man’s free hand, and he felt himself being flipped down to the ground again. The wind knocked out of him, his heart froze as his father raised the knife and pointed it towards him. His mind screamed at his body to move, but Big Boss had a firm grip on him and the fight had finally begun to take its toll. He squeezed his eyes shut as the knife whistled down towards him, feeling his life flash behind his lids. What life? This man had taken everything from him; his freedom, an identity, and now his life.

He heard a sickening crunch and his eyes whipped open as the knife sank into the floor next to his head. He lifted his neck slightly and rolled his head to the side to glance at it, his nerves shot and his body limp as a noodle. _Coward,_ he thought in disgust.

“You lose, “Commander”,” his father growled. Eli, unable to keep his head up anymore, let it fall back against the floor in defeat. He’d given it his all, but he still hadn’t been able to kill him.

That’s right.

Eli was the loser.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm actually tempted to write other things about eli (some of his time spent on mother base ect.) so if you liked this one please drop a comment and let me know! i'll definitely write more if anybody is interested! =D


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